Wednesday, 19 September 2012

I fear my explanations
poisoned at the nub
speak with such lips
to my misfortunate one-
take care of me, take care of me
though you’ll never know how-
I’ll take care of me,
before the round becomes spiked
with the thorns she grew;
mine never shed the forest floor.
I fear my explanations
are dreams I can’t amount to
are themes without war
and therefore no reasons to stand for.
I’ve got a body in water
whilst my own mixes in,
skinny fingers are like toys
grabbing baby face
searching for the things to destroy.
Take care of me, I’m in the garden again.

Saturday, 14 July 2012

I tried to describe you,but I ended up describing them all. Sideways on, face glances: my cheek's then the ceiling’s, reiterating the stars of your tongue.

Eye’s, lips- somehow all those colours and shapes can sound exactly the same. Individuality lies only in my memory, the inn keeper to your reflection. You couldn’t be more wrong, you couldn’t be more dealt with, yet it’s your’s I think of when I read this poemthat has no meaning to me at all.

I'll leave it at that- quite a few people have said they want to know more about what or where my poetry has come from before, so, it's not much maybe but I guess it gives more of an insight if you want to read Brautigan as well, also just because he is another poet and might be worth a read :)

Friday, 22 June 2012

The gutters run to one mouth
strumming pitfall
these golden dragons
cementing bile
and hum the prisoner deep within
I am him.

Leaves mesh calling bones,
and I am not a fool
in these rains,
the structure drowns.
Within skin and thumbed slices of ligaments
her hands are climbing
to scream, to dance, to kill,
and I
unable to walk without legs
have only this bitten quill.
To seek locked-
whether my eternal includes death or
if it will let me away.

Thursday, 10 May 2012

they fleck noses as they grazed and swift hairthe movement of night owls,I'm in the movement,

I'm in the movement no more.I miss my bangelsbraided tangles, and dirt gritting cleanteeth on the skin of your knees,the dear's nocturnaland her smile puts devils and angels at debatefrom her winged movement,I'm in the movement,I'm in the movement no more.I miss a solutionof a vice, melting plastic hands smouldersbut into holders of all that's nice.

The littlest hearts burst with colour the dragonscouldn't train to roar,always in a movement.

My day is not young
my day is not old
my day is not buried beneath the soul.
One day you will find it
and it will speak out to you
"good morning, good noon, good night,"
then explode with flight
ecstatic you'll affix your sight,
whilst dusk brings tidings
and dear day will disapparate,
perhaps to a far corner of some parallel.

Messy fragments scattered
along your weeping smile,
lickable memories for a fond friend
upon distant isles
of the same galactic supermarket.
My day, some day.

Monday, 16 April 2012

Cursing she coursed my brainif hell has mercy she will be further gone;I kept her so close,but we let go of our childish hand-locks;and when I must ignore the tapping at the windowI know she is not the same.

and for eyes beyond the blindaging glass.We are Narnia without return;live stock playingthe blackest stage perfection,glimmering audience and ultimate canvas,the world to meet the universe.Burning, growinglong aftermy stars and I have fallenasleep.

Monday, 6 February 2012

I've got... 9 pairs of shoesin scattered destinationsTwo I'm not sure on and one I didn't countanother isn't listed but the first in any doubt;number 2 is a friendyoung yet good still somehow,4 is full of laughter-two evenings of the whiskey matrix master,5 I probably loved,to this day strangelybut never the same.

6 buried me with deceitful size and comfort,whilst 3 & 7I threw away without a glanceand 8, strange, exciting 8I miss but never had, only for a mate.So here is 9the beautiful and happynot quite eternal but withendurable souls.

Thursday, 26 January 2012

Remember you're well skintbut treat yourself to a pintthen a pilland a designer duvet,as long as I'm goingI'll keep buying till I feel comfortable enough tonot look so dodgey in your shop,even though I've been here 10 times beforewalking the floorfor the non-brand noodles.Stash the rest for tonight,

have a glass of pinotand just a dragget yourself some crisps-maybe a large glass.I'll have a shot but I hate themI'll do a line but it does nothing for meI'll buy this now because I can't quite remember if I have it in this colour,and by the way I'll have anotherwhiskey and coke,make it a double and diet-3 times lucky as long as you don't get stuck in the holeDon't eat- get a donnardon't eat- don't eat- don't eat.And a pen-make it a nice one and a plastic one,you'll only break one up for the shoot.Remember we've got to be quiet,SCREAM and laughand laugh and screamand go and see these doctors about those recurring dreams,get twelve extensionsand 1 with every meal,slice them nicering your fellago back and grinyou're nice and thinand fat and fat and fatten you upwe're better-never gone, just another

and anotherand keep smilingItch it now it'll be like chicken pox,just keep laughing

I hate to say "you're right"so I wont.My life is a ticket for an empty showing,thousands of masterpiecesthat aren't worth knowing,My eyes can't be trusted,and especially after a glass of two,neither can I.Vodka made me brag for singingbut the truth came outwhen I said I'd lost my voice in a fight with a bull.I hate to say "you're right"because it is so miserably wrong;to be made for writingand writing made from pain.

Good girls listen and workwhilst they obeythey never feel dismaythey know what they areand who they can't.Stay my shephardcrying from wolves bittercomfort,I will carry sinsof my nothings,your hushing,on my imploding muse.

Monday, 23 January 2012

Fear is loveand there is nothing more ferocious than the creature herself.Listening quietly and glazing politelywishing crooked smiles on the windowsill,enraptured fingers hovering over your desolate skin.You loose your mindit'll never come back,not without the rats and worms.Living with new memoryspeaking, running, understandingloneliness and fear.Fear the affair that casts your endless sleep,how I wish the kitten would lick my wounds once more.The empty pit of conciousnessforbidding.I know that of wrongbut I wish it right anyway.

Thursday, 12 January 2012

I have faith in you,I see, I know, I believe in you;but why is it those who have faith in what they seealways seem to regret it later,and those of you have faith in higher placeswill never know.

I have faith in me,no guides or spirits make me seethat this life should count as muchas any eternal moment I will ever have,I have faith in me.

But sometimes I'm irreversibly wrong,and rude and disappointing and even weak.I say I believe but it's just to keep me going,keep me knowing that if there is nothing left for my boneswhen they have sung their last crackthey'll be none the wiser than I am in that moment.

Faith in nothing,faith in anatomy and logics that keep me to the ground-soon I'll be in it,and that's all there is to it,to keep me believing in nothingbut all the beauty I see.

I'm in love with a sailorwho cruises deadly swamps,his eyes are scarce under his eyelashesthough big as the pools he plunders,so I can't tell what he is thinkingwhilst his lips move or cease to part.

I'm in love with a sailorwho has emptied my heart,of it's liver, of it's guts, of its frost bitten blood.In place there is dewy bark,of my ever complicated woods-but like the rain forests drenched in sunthe floor is an eclipse of it's stature.

I'm in love with a sailorwho rids me of all life,and I am to liveas ever in the darkness of knights.Dear traveller I cannot see you so far off,my eyes are over agefor the dreams you left me to leadme, in that other universe...

but without them,what, without them?Shelves of ideas of words of numbers ofrealities that drain lemonsto make bitter lemonade.

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

said the Barble and the Garbfishy!"It must be her!""The cat!"and there she sat,oh so fat devouring the poor little rat-(subsequently, Ratty squeeled"it could be worse, your skin could be getting peeled!"and Barble bubbled and bloatedwhilst old Garb he giggled and gloated"It could be worse, we could be a rat!"-"no, no" said Barble "a cat,who must dine on a rat,to get so fat,I'd rather anything but that!"and they both did roar,until they stopped roaring that is).

"Silly mog, it's time to work!"and with twink of her second left whisker down,the place began to drown,"spinn spannn spick spock"(she purred)"What a devious feline you've got!"(the rodent eeked),Old Poseidon let the Dolphins loose,who played chess with a portrait and stole a goose!Whilst Barble battled a belly dancing jelly fish,hanging on to a genie granted a pig it's final wishand Garbfish swamthe deadly mile of hangerclam-but all too soon...RINGRING ZIIING!The doorbell zapped them alland so the dust fell from the walland so it was ready for the callfrom their relatives...